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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26397544">Who We Are Now</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/crewdlydrawn/pseuds/crewdlydrawn'>crewdlydrawn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Arguing, Blow Jobs, Come Sharing, Drinking, Harringrove, Homophobia, M/M, Marijuana, Smoking, homophobic parents, self discovery</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:40:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>19,367</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26397544</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/crewdlydrawn/pseuds/crewdlydrawn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawkins didn't hold a lot for the futures of Steve Harrington or Billy Hargrove, but hometown connections can still offer a chance to realign destinies.  For Steve, this means rethinking the trajectory of living life in his father's expected footsteps.  For Billy, a chance at contentment.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menirva/gifts">Menirva</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>By the time Billy graduated from Hawkins High, he was already living on his own.  Neil was already gone—Billy had witnessed his rough hands aimed towards Susan and Max, and that was a line he couldn’t let be crossed.  Standing in the way of a mostly-drunken rage, he’d threatened to kill Neil if he ever tried to come back.  It had taken all of his control to stand still, to hold eye contact along with his ground as Neil had stepped so close their noses were hardly a breath away.  Maybe it had been that stillness in Billy, maybe it had been something in his eyes, maybe he just wasn’t game for increased resistance, but whatever it had been, Neil had taken him seriously, and packed his bags that same night.</p>
<p>Susan had insisted he stay, at first, both for his own sake and theirs, he figured.  And he did, for a while.  It didn’t take long for him to feel out of place without Neil, though, and he packed his things before Susan could talk him out of it.  With a promise to keep an eye on them, to come running if they needed anything, he found a roommate in town.</p>
<p>Decisions like that had him closer with Max than ever, the promise of protection and evidence of more than just forced-sibling annoyance.  He started looking out for her in better ways as she started high school.  She cried when he told her he was going away to school, even though it was just a bus ride away, and made him promise to visit and stay with them when he had breaks.  It was an easy promise to make, with Susan’s approval, since he didn’t have enough money to keep his rented room, anyway.</p>
<p>Going to college wasn’t first on the list of things Billy had thought he’d be doing with his life, but then, that list hadn’t ever really gotten serious consideration past ‘have some fun tonight and every night’ for a very long time.  A major and a plan weren’t on his plate, yet, so he signed up for the basics, the classes he knew he’d need to get out of the way to build up to specialties later on, no matter what.  He’d figure it out.  Besides, he needed to get his grades up.</p>
<p>There were other things he was figuring out, now that he was left more to his own devices.  No one on the college campus knew him, had any expectations of him, and it became immediately obvious that no one he encountered was as strictly narrow-minded as Neil had been.  Billy found himself watching people, and, to his surprise, discovered he enjoyed watching his male classmates as much as the female.  In the midst of actually trying, for once, to study and do well, he took some time for self-discovery, even about things that used to frighten him—didn’t hurt that Max had had him pegged right-on about certain inclinations, even if he’d fought her on it, at first.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>_______________________________________</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It took a lot to get Steve Harrington into a university. Not the tuition, his family had that covered in spades. His grades weren't the worst, either, but it was more than aptitude and financial stability that was needed for him to be able to enroll and walk through those doors and halls.</p>
<p>Since he was a little kid, if his father talked to him at all, it was about the business. The Family Business. Steve was an only child, his father's only son, and he was meant to come up into line within that inheritance. Join him, work alongside him, and—a vision given to a tender kindergartner—take it all over one day. While his mother voiced no designs of her own, she never spoke against his father's, and that alone was support enough.</p>
<p>Only Steve didn't want that life for himself. Steve wanted something bigger, better—Steve wanted out of Hawkins.  Even so, he was a loyal son.  Despite distant dreams and aspirations, he made his aim through high school to get into business, to support his father’s company.  He had it all planned out: get his diploma, go through the certifications, put in just enough effort that his father was satisfied he was in the door, but not enough to be <em>good</em> at it and risk moving up the chain.</p>
<p>What he didn’t count on was Billy Hargrove throwing a monkey wrench into the whole thing.  He had already started business school, was home for ‘winter break’ between his first two semesters, when he reencountered a piece of Hawkins High history he hadn’t thought he’d have seen again.  It had sauntered up to him with a sway it its hips, a cigarette in its mouth, and a smirk dancing dangerously in its eyes.  Oh, and at least three buttons unbuttoned despite the chill in the air and a lack of a jacket on its shoulders.  Stupid.</p>
<p>“If it ain’t Steve-fucking-Harrington,” floated out around the yellow filter of Billy Hargrove’s cigarette.  “Here I thought you escaped our little Podunk town, at last.”  Inhaling, Billy finally pulled the stick away from his mouth, only <em>after</em> he’d finished talking. </p>
<p>Lifting his groceries into the passenger seat of his car, Steve rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, yeah,” he started, shutting the door and leaning against the chassis.  “Y’know hero worship isn’t a good look, Hargrove.”</p>
<p>Smoke started in a huff, flowing evenly as Billy licked over his lips.  It had always struck Steve as overkill, too-cocky, like a damn lizard.  He couldn’t help watching it, though, especially as his bottom lip aimed in beneath the line of his teeth, catching there just for a second.  “What brings Hawkins’ golden boy home?”</p>
<p>“You really wanna know?” Steve taunted, folding his arms over his chest, one ankle resting over its opposite.  “It’s gonna require knowing like… anything about me.”  The warning was accompanied by a quick sweep of his arm between them, before it returned to tuck into his elbow.</p>
<p>Another puff, and Billy dropped the used butt, crushing it under his twisting boot.  “I know plenty.”</p>
<p>“So you’re good then,” Steve came back, pushing himself away from the car and starting for the driver’s side.  “See ya around, Hargrove.”</p>
<p>He’d let him drive off, a stupid little wave in the rearview, but it wasn’t the last they saw of each other that break.  It might have been ideal to spend his break at home, goofing off on his Atari, eating chips and catching up on the sleep he’d lost for the last three months, but his father wanted to talk shop whenever he was home, and when he wasn’t, the house just seemed so <em>empty</em>.  The quiet was a little too familiar, and Steve needed more air than that.</p>
<p>A few days, he bugged Tommy at his job at the local market, but that got him in trouble after a while, and Steve was told to leave.  Carol had gone away to school and hadn’t come home—something that Tommy was sore and mopey about, another reason Steve didn’t stick around him too long.  Even Nancy Wheeler was too busy to hang out, organizing volunteer work in town, or some political thing, or some journalism thing; Steve didn’t really pay attention other than that she had no time for him. </p>
<p>So he found himself on the bluff overlooking town, with a pack of beers he’d swiped from his basement knowing his father wouldn’t see or care even if he did.  It was a warm winter, comparatively, but the wind still gave him a shiver when it rifled through his hair.  The shush of it through the trees below the ridgeline meant he didn’t hear the footsteps, instead the rotary flick of a lighter’s flint jarred him out of his thoughts, and he twisted towards the sound. </p>
<p>“Did you fucking follow me up here?” he aimed upward at the cloud of smoke blocking an equally cloud-like set of blond curls dangling on broad shoulders.  His first answer was an open hard pack offered down at his reach.  Figuring ‘fuck it’, he plucked out a cigarette for himself, even allowed it to be lit for him.</p>
<p>Flopping down on the grass beside him as Steve inhaled, Billy set the pack and lighter down between them, an open offering.  “Maybe,” came out around the filter.  Smoke came out fast, forced, in contrast to Steve’s lazy exhale.  “You gonna drink all those yourself, pretty boy?”</p>
<p>Toeing the six pack closer to Billy’s side with his sneaker, Steve kept his eyes on the town.  “Maybe.”</p>
<p>The offer was clear enough, and Steve could see the smile curl into Billy’s cheeks and settle in with dimples.  For the first time, he didn’t find it annoying.  Or, maybe, it hadn’t ever really been, at least not only. </p>
<p>“Heard you’re in business school,” Billy spoke around the mouth of a bottle, downing a swallow.  “Following in daddy’s footsteps?”</p>
<p>A snort of smoke shot out of Steve’s nostrils.  “No,” he argued, a bit more strongly than he’d intended.  “I mean, yeah, I’m in business school, I just—”</p>
<p>“Don’t wanna be?”</p>
<p>It was such a short question, flung at him with part sarcasm and part incising insight that sliced at Steve and stole his words.  Steve found himself staring into space, despite his eyes being moderately aimed towards Billy.  “Is it that obvious?”</p>
<p>An almost pitying look came over Billy for just a second before disappearing under another smile as he puffed his cigarette.  “You’re not exactly the stuffed-shirt type, Harrington, y’know?”</p>
<p>“Funny,” Steve muttered, flopping back on the grass, eyes on the sky as he smoked.  “I could’ve sworn you’d lobbed that exact sentiment at me a buncha times, last year.”</p>
<p>“I never used those words.”</p>
<p>Steve shrugged, all the answer and excuse he had to give.</p>
<p>“Morose doesn’t really suit you, Harrington.  Takes the light outta your eyes.”</p>
<p>Those eyes heaved a heavy roll, but Steve moved past the comment anyway.  “I thought about teaching, you know.”  Not getting a response, he kept on.  “It wasn’t something I always wanted or anything, not like,” he took a lengthy drag, the smoke coming out with his words, “not like a childhood dream.  I guess I just got used to looking after the younger idiots in this town, and I guess I thought it’d make a great career.”  Sincerity had leaned its way into sarcasm by the end.</p>
<p>“Soooooo you quit the whole business school nonsense, came home, and you’re gonna restart in a new one?”</p>
<p>“What?”  Steve’s head tilted sharply, looking up and expecting to find a mocking expression, but only finding curiosity.  “No… I mean, I thought about it, but that’s not what I’m meant to do, I guess, you know?”</p>
<p>Billy nodded.  “Yeah, sure.”  Cigarette pinched between his lips, Billy leaned back on the grass, barely an arm’s length from Steve.  “Or…” the pause was just long enough that Steve almost spoke up, “…you’re letting your dad define your life for you.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If someone had asked Billy about his life in Hawkins, his ‘people’, he would have shrugged off the question.  Sure, there had been that small posse he’d led around, the wannabe punks who had just needed a leader to play number two for, but none of them talked to him anymore.  He doubted they even still talked to each other, even if they were all still in town.  Coming back into town for break was less about who he’d see than it was about having nowhere else to go.  He’d had to give up the apartment when he’d moved to on-campus housing, and he was grateful Susan had offered his old room for the couple of weeks that he’d be around. </p>
<p>If someone had asked Billy what he’d be up to during break—and no one had—he definitely wouldn’t have predicted running into Steve Harrington as many times as he was starting to.  It was a small town, but not <em>that</em> small. </p>
<p>It wasn’t even two days before they were back in each other’s space. </p>
<p>“Listen, fuck-o,” sounded from behind Billy’s shoulder, not loud enough to cause a scene, but with enough force to startle the bottle of Coke right out of grasp.</p>
<p>Luckily, before it could bounce off of the store’s tile floor and become completely useless to anyone for hours until it settled, it was caught by the quick hand of the same perpetrator who caused it to fall.</p>
<p>Billy wasn’t sure what exactly had prompted the insult, but, “At least I’m not the one startling drinks out of people’s hands,” he accused.  Fingers wagging, he held out his hand expectantly.  “Need something, pretty boy?”</p>
<p>Bottle cap shaking directly in Billy’s face, Steve greeted him with his lips pursed into a tight line.  “You had no right.”</p>
<p>Plucking the soda from its accusatory hold, Billy smiled, winked, patted Steve’s head, and made way for the register with his drink and a pack of chips snagged along the way.  Footsteps quickly followed him. </p>
<p>“I need to talk to you.”  Not seeming to be buying anything, himself, Steve simply stood behind Billy while he paid for his purchases, two packs of smokes added to the haul at the counter.</p>
<p>Nodding his thanks to the cashier, Billy left the store with Steve in tow, following him all the way to his Firebird.  “You take a car here or walk, Harrington?” he asked around the filter of a fresh cigarette, keys jingling between his fingers.</p>
<p>“…I walked, why?”</p>
<p>Door opening with a creak, Billy slid himself into the driver’s seat.  “So get the fuck in, and we’ll talk.”</p>
<p>Despite standing on the pavement like a dumbass for a handful of seconds, Steve came around to the idea finally, climbing into the passenger side just in time for Billy to put the car in gear.  “Where are you going?”</p>
<p>Stupid question.  “Somewhere else, obviously.”  Any retort Steve had had planned was flung out of him as Billy accelerated, leaving Harrington to fumble frantically for his seatbelt as Billy laughed.</p>
<p>Normally, Billy blared metal music while driving.  The sounds drowned out the rest of his life, painting over the boring, drab town he’d been moved to.  Turning the ignition coincided, without fail, with an earful of Metallica.  This time, though, in addition to not needing to fuel his moods with heavy bass, he actually wanted to hear his passenger’s side of the conversation.</p>
<p>“So,” Billy started, tapping cigarette ash out his window, “why am I a ‘fuck-o’ today?”</p>
<p>From Billy’s sidelong glance, it was clear Steve had been about to start to say something flippantly in reply, but took a breath and regrouped.  “What you said, on the hill.”</p>
<p>“I said a lot of things up there, pretty boy.  Which one’s got your panties in a twist?”</p>
<p>Steve’s pursed lips were enough to send Billy’s tongue between his teeth in a grin.  “About my father.”</p>
<p>Nodding, Billy took a bright drag of smoke, rocking a tight curve that had Steve’s shoulder against the door’s wall.  “Following in Daddy’s footsteps, right?  Letting him define your life?”</p>
<p>“I’m <em>not</em>,” Steve grated out, his voice sharp, a stab into the air between them.  His hands twisted over each other, curling into fists and then relaxing again.  “I’m just—”</p>
<p>“Just doing what he wanted for you,” Billy supplied for him, “but like, for you.  You’re happy about it.”  It was bullshit; Billy knew it, he knew Steve knew it, and he was confident it would be taken as such.</p>
<p>Steve was quiet for the next few turns.  By then, they were headed out of Hawkins, towards the corn fields, fewer buildings and houses to take up the scenery.  A year earlier, it had all felt like walls closing in on Billy, a sea of dumb farmer fields representing just how far away from freedom and water he truly was.  Now, he could better see the beauty of it for itself. </p>
<p>When he finally spoke again, Steve’s gaze was aimed out the window, his arms folded over his seat belt.  “I don’t know how else to do it.  All of it.  Fuck, <em>any</em> of it.  What’s so funny?”</p>
<p>Billy had coughed out a laugh around the filter pinched between his lips.  “I didn’t figure you for the ‘follower’ type, is all.”  Eyes cast to the side for a moment to check how the taunt landed.</p>
<p>Rather than bark back at him, Steve just got quiet again, not saying a word the whole loop Billy made out around the farms, back into town.  Pulling back into the parking lot they’d started at, Billy threw the gearshaft into park, and his cigarette butt out the window.  His climb out the door was sharp, the door nearly slammed, but he turned around at the last second, forearms on the open window frame. </p>
<p>“You wanna hang out, sometime?”</p>
<p>Billy hung an arm over the wheel, leaning into sight.  “Aw, Harrington, I didn’t know you cared…”</p>
<p>Steve’s eyes rolled hard.  “Listen, asshole, if you don’t want to, then just—”</p>
<p>“Meet me on the hill tomorrow, pretty boy.”  Without waiting for confirmation, Billy put the car in gear, peeling back away from Steve and not bothering to wonder if his arms had made it safely away from the door.  A quick look in the rearview showed him standing in the lot, arms raised in frustration like an idiot.  Billy smirked all the way home.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Was it crazy to look forward to hanging out with his high school rival?  No, nemesis?  Something strong, certainly.  Either way, Steve certainly <em>felt</em> crazy enough climbing the bluffs with a six pack of beers hiding oh-so-clearly in a brown paper grocery bag under his arm.  Despite the fact that Billy had already shown up once to the very same spot when Steve had been minding his own business, he had lingering doubts that he’d actually come up this time.</p>
<p>At least he had the beers.</p>
<p>Was it weird to bring them?  Too much like repeating a—Steve stopped his brain short of its next word, stubbornly refusing to even think it.</p>
<p>He stood for a while, looking out over Hawkins, watching the dots of cars and people as they went about their days.  It all looked normal.  Terribly, horribly, boringly normal.  Running at his face, he was just about to finally plop himself down on the grass when Billy’s voice startled him, setting him off balance.</p>
<p>“I’ve got a better idea,” sounded from over his shoulder, a shoulder that found itself tilting wildly towards the ground as Steve had been halfway into shifting his weight when he’d whipped around towards the voice. </p>
<p>“Fuck!”  Having at least set down the beers already, Steve ended up on his ass, wincing at the bite of hard ground through his jeans.</p>
<p>“God, you must really love this hill.”  Billy’s voice was flat, the sort of forced regulation to its tone that typically only ever hid sarcasm and amusement.  And not well.  Even as his assessment was mocked, Billy still offered a hand down, and with Steve and beer-bag in tow, headed down the far side of the ridge. </p>
<p>“Uh, where the fuck we going?” Steve piped up when it became obvious they weren’t headed back towards the mail trail.  “And why meet at the bluff if we’re just gonna walk?  This is some serial killer shit, Hargrove.”</p>
<p>“Jesus Christ,” drew out in front, Billy side-stepping a broken branch and heading upwards through the trees, “you always ask this many questions?  You’re like a goddamn girl.”</p>
<p>Catching up, Steve reached forward before thinking about it and smacked Billy’s shoulder.  “Don’t say shit like that, that’s sexist.”</p>
<p>It took two whole minutes for Billy to stop laughing.</p>
<p>Even once he’d stopped, Steve stayed quieter, in part because he finally knew where they were headed.  Trees opened up to the old raised train tracks, long out of commission, that ran through the back of the woods.  Walking the tracks didn’t seem a great or likely ultimate destination, so Steve had to figure they were bound for the junkyard that lay about a half mile down the tracks. </p>
<p>Tire stacks, pieces of auto chassis, whole decrepit cars, and two rusted out school buses made up most of the littered heaps at the clearing.  If one didn’t watch their step going through, they’d be likely to trip over at least three things before getting even ten steps in.  The view was busy but quiet, full but epty at the same time.  With memories of biking there as a small child, Steve felt himself relax again.  This could work out fine.</p>
<p>Suddenly, a bat was pressed into his hand, the bag of beers plucked out of his hold and set aside.  His face must have held enough of a question, because Billy went right into answering. </p>
<p>“We’re gonna smash some shit.”  A wide grin brightened his face, and a shiver ran through Steve’s nerves, despite not feeling cold.  With a wink at Steve, Billy picked up a length of steel rebar, swinging it sharply into what was left of a window in an old Jeep.  “See?  Smash.”</p>
<p><em>Ah</em>.  Nodding, Steve bobbled the bat in his grip.  “Alright…”  Peering around for an idea target, he settled for the headlight frame of the Jeep.  The bulb was long gone, but there was plenty to crack and splinter with a satisfying sound.</p>
<p>“Not just a pretty face,” Billy appraised, giving his rebar a baton-style twirl.</p>
<p>“Yeah, you should know that from my fists, already.”</p>
<p>Three distinct tongue clicks disapproved.  “Oh, if that’s all I had to go on, we’d just stick to pretty, Harrington.”</p>
<p>“So,” Steve flipped the bat end for end, catching it easily, “you think I’m pretty.”</p>
<p>Billy just rolled his eyes, getting a grin from Steve, and they made solid work of the Jeep until the sun started disappearing on them.  Picking their way back along the tracks didn’t seem too appealing in the dark, and they called it a night, parting ways. </p>
<p>It wasn’t even 24hrs before they ended up back in the same spot together.</p>
<p>Hawkins was small, sure.  There were only so many stores, certainly.  But Steve and Billy’s families didn’t even live on the same sides of the main roads as each other, making their chances of continually running into each other fairly slim.  That didn’t seem to matter.  Steve wasn’t <em>intentionally</em> finding Billy, not consciously anyway, and yet.</p>
<p>While he’d taken the bat to a few windows, played it like a golf club on some bits and bobs of fallen accessories, Steve lost his steam fairly quickly.  “It just…” tossing the bat straight-on through the bus door’s window, Steve grunted, “pisses me off.”</p>
<p>“Sure seems to, cowboy.”  Billy was perched on a tumbling stack of discarded tires, each in varying states of ruin and decay.  His hands were behind his head, feet higher than the rest, but he had a clear view of the center of the yard where Steve was standing.  “You can fix that, you know.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I can calm the fuck down, right?”  Steve ran his fingers roughly back over his hair, perching both hands on his hips.</p>
<p>Flicking away his cigarette butt after smashing it into the side of a tire, Billy propelled himself up to dangle his legs down off of the stack where he sat.  “There’s that,” he agreed, holding his hand out for Steve to toss him one of the beer cans they’d both brought.  He caught it easy, providing less foam upon opening.  “And then there’s taking charge of your own life.”</p>
<p>Steve snapped open a can for himself, kicking a broken stick away from his feet.  “That what you did?”</p>
<p>Billy shrugged past the can at his lips.  “I mean, yeah.”  It was a casual reply, but Steve could see the change in Billy’s shoulders, the shift in his posture, and definitely noticed the way he looked away, going quiet.</p>
<p>Waiting only a few moments, Steve stepped over, hoisting himself up on a neighboring tire stack.  “You don’t really talk about him much, do you.”  A headshake was the only response at first, and Billy fished a lighter and blunt from his jacket pocket sitting beside them.  They sat in silence for several minutes, taking turns with the joint, letting it do the relaxing for them so they didn’t have to discuss aloud what ate at their souls.</p>
<p>Even as the sun sank away, they remained, building a fire in an empty oil barrel to keep warmer.  Actually wearing their jackets would probably have helped, but comfort was what it was.</p>
<p>“I used to build fires on the beach, as a kid,” Billy spoke into the flames, poking at their gathered fuel with a strip of metal striping from one of the cars.</p>
<p>“Little pyro?”  Steve grinned at him.</p>
<p>With a laugh, Billy shook his head. “It’s more common than that.”</p>
<p>“Sure, sure.”  It was sarcasm, pure and simple, and Billy called him on it with a jab at his shoulder.  Exaggerating the lean at the impact, Steve came back to shove at Billy’s arm, tilting like a blow-up punching clown.</p>
<p>Raising his brows, Billy inclined his head in Steve’s direction, the look a clear question that didn’t need to be spoken.  Were they really doing this right now?  Still wobbling his lean side to side, Steve offered a shrug. </p>
<p>A grin, a peeking tongue between teeth, and a tuck of stray strands of hair all came in a row, slowly, before Billy’s body was flinging itself in Steve’s direction.  He thought he had expected it, anticipating an attack, and yet he hardly had out an ‘oh shit’ before he was backpedaling, looking down at the ground behind him in a desperate bid not to trip on anything dramatic while avoiding a pounce.</p>
<p>He failed miserably.</p>
<p>It wasn’t the tripping, at least, but down to the ground he went, hard on his ass with Billy tackled on top of him.  His startled outcry of discomfort morphed into an aggressive growl as hands scrambled for purchase on Billy’s arms. </p>
<p>Just in time to not get squashed, his grip firmed up, and he kicked off the ground for leverage to flip their positions.  He got halfway before momentum went back the other way, startling a yelp out of him as his back ground against a rock beneath it. </p>
<p>“Give in?” Billy taunted from above him, just about leering down from inches away.</p>
<p>“Oh, you wish,” Steve dismissed, gritting his teeth as he tangled his legs with Billy’s, destabilizing him as he shoved his elbows against the ground.  It was just enough, and he struggled toward the upper hand, straddling Billy’s waist, directing as much of his weight down with gravity as he could.</p>
<p>Due to struggle, Billy not accepting defeat, Steve spread out further, cinching his hands around Billy’s wrists and pinning them over his head.  His breath ragged, heart rate raised, mind a little muddied from booze and weed, Steve’s body moved faster than his brain, lowering his head to press his mouth to Billy’s.  It was inviting—pink, plump, snarling up at him.  The move felt as natural as raising a cigarette to his lips, and was received much more eagerly than a drag of smoke.</p>
<p>An eager tongue slipped between Steve’s lips, and a jump ran through his muscles, dislodging their connection.  Billy pulled his head back, meeting the grass, in a quick, sharp movement.  Breath sucked in through his teeth, Steve was absolutely certain, in that moment, that he was about to get punched in the jaw.</p>
<p>Instead, Billy sat up, dumping Steve to the side, and apologized in a rush.  “I’m sorry.  I’ll go, if you want.”  His eyes didn’t meet Steve’s, the fire’s sparks glinting off of them as they aimed away.</p>
<p>“No, no,” Steve sat up beside him, his first instinct to reach out, but restraining himself.  “I—Look, I should be the one to—”</p>
<p>A head full of curls shook beside him, and Billy finally faced him.  “No, I shouldn’t have—”</p>
<p>“No, I started—” Steve stopped himself short, even before Billy could break in and come out with another claim of guilt.  “I kissed <em>you</em>,” he started again, “and <em>you</em> kissed back,” he gestured back and forth between them.  “So… if we’re both apologizing, and we both did the thing, then why are we apologizing?”</p>
<p>That got Billy’s attention, and his head turned sharply.  “…So… if <em>you</em> wanted it, and <em>I</em> wanted it…”</p>
<p>Nodding, Steve finished, “…Then we don’t need to apologize at all.  And if we don’t…”</p>
<p>While he hadn’t planned on finishing the statement regardless, he was unable to, on account of his mouth being immediately otherwise occupied.  In contrast to a wrestling grip, Billy’s hands were almost gentle against Steve’s face.  Even so, his fingertips curled around the edge of Steve’s jaw, beneath his earlobes, his thumbs pressing into his cheeks.  The press of them drew him in, pulling his shoulders closer, his body curling towards Billy in a needy search for the warmth they left behind with the fire.</p>
<p>His own hands searched for purchase—a shoulder, an arm, a bare neck—and they were only turned away when they reached soft curls.</p>
<p>“Nn-nn,” Billy hummed without disengaging.  Realigning his lips with Steve’s, his tongue once again curiously seeking forward, he took hold of Steve’s hands to remove them from being near his head.</p>
<p>Rising to the challenge, Steve gave a squeeze to the defending appendages, as a feigned promise to behave, and sent them right back in place once they were released. </p>
<p>This time, Billy’s hold on Steve’s head was not <em>quite</em> so gentle as he pushed it back and away from his own.  “Not. The hair,” he enunciated firmly.</p>
<p>Steve felt a grin peeling into his cheeks.  “You mean don’t do <em>this</em>?”  Along with the word, he combed through Billy’s voluminous hair, running it between thumbs and forefingers, pointedly pinging a few half-ringlets.  Even if he got himself punched for his troubles, it would have been worth the absolutely scandalized expression on Billy’s face.</p>
<p>“Oh-ho-ho,” it was a threatening laughter, accompanied by the tug of a snarl in Billy’s upper lip.  “You’re gonna pay for that, Harrington.”</p>
<p>Going all-in, fairly assuming it might be his only chance, Steve redirected his right hand to cover the top of Billy’s head, giving his hair a swift but firm tousle.  Fate would be what it was.</p>
<p>Steve’s grin held strong even against a louder growl in front of and then above him, Billy tackling him backward once again.  The thought crossed his mind that he might not even care if he came away with a black eye, a busted lip, or even a cracked nose. </p>
<p>But Billy didn’t hit him.</p>
<p>He didn’t even smack Steve’s hands away.</p>
<p>That mess of curls simply descended, Billy crushing his lips against Steve’s, pressing his body down along his, a heavier compression than he looked.  Steve’s own lip caught against his teeth, and while the pinch hurt, it didn’t deter him from fighting fire with fire. </p>
<p>Their actual fire was low, barely spitting flame, by the time they sought more air than skin.</p>
<p>How the cigarette was going to help get his breath back, Steve didn’t know, but he stole it right out from between Billy’s lips anyway, taking a pull.  “So, what, now… you my boyfriend?” he teased around smoke blown in an offended face.</p>
<p>“No,” Billy spat flatly out, plucking the cig back for himself.  “Fuck that.”  A long drag, during which Steve weighed the pros and cons of attempting to kiss him again, if they weren’t to get another chance.  Billy, however, wasn’t finished.</p>
<p>A wide, cheek stretching grin bared perfectly bright teeth, just a hint of pink tongue slipped between the sets.  “No,” he argued, “you’re <em>my</em> boyfriend.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Billy spotted Harrington on his own campus, he about spit out the coffee that was the only thing keeping him going.  His fault or no, he would have made the dude pay for costing him any amount of caffeine at such a critical hour of the morning.  As it was, he managed to swallow the sip, wincing just a twitch at the unplanned heat from swallowing all at once, and made a beeline across the open courtyard-like area. </p>
<p>“You get that lost on the way to class, Harrington?” he called ahead of his stride, slowing as he approached to seem less eager.  They’d spent the rest of their break together, <em>together</em>, as much as they’d been able, but reality had called itself back in—they went to different schools, and neither was next door to Hawkins.  Billy would be lying through his teeth if he tried to claim that he hadn’t been thinking about Steve throughout each day since he’d come back to campus.</p>
<p>Twisting almost too-quickly—Billy had come to find that uncoordinated startlement extremely charming—Steve pulled his attentions away from the pillar-like bulletin board, scanning the space behind him only a second before breaking into a grin as he faced Billy.  “I mean, <em>yes</em>, but it <em>is</em> my first day, and all…”  That grin was more than an ‘I missed you and came to see you’ grin; it was hiding something, and not well.</p>
<p>“Your first—” Billy stopped, eyes narrowing, slowing his pace to more of a stalk forward while keeping eye contact.  “Did you do something stupid like transfer schools?”</p>
<p>“Well damn,” Steve huffed an exaggerated sigh, “if I’d known it was <em>stupid</em>, I might’ve thought twice about it, or something.”  The faux disappointment didn’t stick around long, because that idiotic grin split his face again, and Billy couldn’t help being drawn to it, even as his eyes rolled hard. </p>
<p>He wanted to kiss him, felt a pull from it, a twitch in his lips, muscles anticipating the act, but he couldn’t.  Alone was one thing, but in the middle of the campus lawn was something very much else.  Instead, he opted for a side-punch to the shoulder, clapping his grip down on the top and giving a squeeze.  “Don’t worry, Harrington; everything you do is stupid, because <em>you’re</em> doing it.”  A wink accompanied his teasing smirk.</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”  Rebalancing the messenger bag Billy had just then noticed was hanging across Steve’s frame, he shifted the weight on his feet, breaking eye contact at last.  “My, uh… my parents don’t know I switched.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I kinda didn’t figure.”</p>
<p>“It’s my fucking college fund,” Steve started up, the bite to his tone not meant for Billy, “and I’m <em>at</em> college, aren’t I?”  Though the conversation was presently with Billy, the words were far more aimed right back at himself, still justifying his decision.  Billy let him get it out, waiting patiently.  “I’m gonna… I’m gonna do what I wanna do.”</p>
<p>“Well good for you,” Billy approved, cinching his arm around Steve’s shoulders before he could argue or back away.  “Let’s get you a tour…”</p>
<p> ‘The Tour’ was just heading straight for his dorm room, and haphazardly pointing out which buildings were which along the way.  Turned out Steve had started the transfer process almost immediately after their break had ended.  Figuring out how to get the paperwork in order without alerting his folks had made it take longer, nearly a month.  How much Billy had missed him over that month hadn’t truly sunk in until they were alone in his room.</p>
<p>Within seconds, Billy had Steve’s back against the just-closed door, his body pressed tightly close, nose millimeters from the one in front of it. </p>
<p>“God, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” </p>
<p>A smile barely contained, and undaunted by the squish, Steve reached up to rub his thumbs over Billy’s eyebrows.  He had to admit it felt nice, but it was an absolutely perplexing move.  “What… are you doing?”</p>
<p>Face the picture of innocent ignorance, Steve replied, “You said your eyes were sore…”</p>
<p>Billy stared at him, silently, for a full minute.  Steve remained undeterred, unmoved, not even a shiver of a twitch under the gaze. </p>
<p>“Get. On. The. Bed.,” Billy ordered, moving nothing but the arm he bent back to aim at his cot.</p>
<p>Steve laughed in his face, but Billy followed through, guiding him bodily over to the cot, giving him a little push so he had to stumble and crumple rather than smoothly sitting.  Sounds that came out of Steve’s mouth when he was less than graceful were among Billy’s favorites, of late.</p>
<p>“Why bother telling me,” Steve shrugged off the strap of his bag, yanking his shirt up over his head, slowing down only to be careful of his hair, “if you’re just going to push me?”</p>
<p>Taking a very disrespectful hold of that hair behind his head, Billy leaned in.  “Because I like it.” </p>
<p>Thankfully not a class, Billy <em>had</em> been planning to spend his afternoon in the library studying for an exam.  Instead, he spent the next two hours studying the history of his hands on Steve’s skin, the science of Steve’s intuitive touch on his own, and the geometry of how their mouths slotted together so perfectly.</p>
<p>It was art, Steve’s body against his.</p>
<p>When it had just been during break, just a bubble of contact in Hawkins and never close to their homes, it had been too easy for this to feel unreal, a dream.  This, though, skin to skin, together angling toward release as one, this was real. </p>
<p>They were both sticky, by the end, but Billy didn’t care.  He wouldn’t move for anything. </p>
<p>“Could’ve been doing this the whole time, huh,” Steve muttered close to Billy’s ear as they lay there.</p>
<p>Head turning, Billy stuck his nose against Steve’s neck even as he shook his head.  “No.”  With a groan at the motion, he pushed off the cot just enough to be able to see Steve’s face.  “I wasn’t ready, then.  And I’m damn sure you weren’t, either.”</p>
<p>Steve looked away, but Billy could see he knew it just as well.  There really wasn’t any use in belaboring the point.  He opened his mouth to respond, but they both froze as they heard a key enter the lock behind them.  Billy’s eyes widened, but Steve’s reaction was even faster—he grabbed the edge of the cot’s covers, and with a strong flick, hid them both beneath it.</p>
<p>Seconds of shuffling preceded a laugh.  “Dude, you’re supposed to put a sock or something on the doorknob when you’re getting busy, but good for you.”</p>
<p>Hoping at the very least that Steve was securely hidden, Billy cleared his throat.  “Uh, hey, Tim.  Yeah, it was unexpected…”</p>
<p>Zipper runs and papers shuffling on Tim’s side of the room had Billy worried he didn’t plan to <em>leave</em>.  “Congratulations, man—and ma’am,” he called over louder, clearly aimed for whomever Billy had stuffed under his sheets.  “I’ll be out of your hair in a sec,” came out more as a lecherous chuckle.</p>
<p>Biting at his lip, Billy managed to look at Steve and urge him to be quiet, even as he shook beneath him with stifled giggles.  Tim left quickly enough, smacking Billy on the ass on his way by, which only had Steve nearly howling with laughter the second the door was closed again. </p>
<p>“Fuck off,” Billy smushed his hand over Steve’s face, using that as leverage to push up off the cot.  “Bathroom’s down the hall,” he aimed over his shoulder, tugging his jeans up and on but not bothering with a shirt.  “When I’m back, you can catch a shower next.”</p>
<p>Lounging with an arm tucked behind his head, Steve watched him.  “You still hiding me, Hargrove?”</p>
<p>Towel pulled down and slung over his shoulder, Billy leaned down to press a firm kiss to that dumb face.  “No,” another muss at his hair, prompting Steve to frantically fuss at it as he sat up, “I just don’t think I can keep my hands off you, if you’re in there with me.”  With a wink, he left Steve smirking behind him.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>Even though Steve always seemed to find a way to shower at Billy’s dorm—even if they hadn’t screwed around—it took Billy over a week to realize that Steve was sleeping in his car in the campus lot.  He could have kicked himself for not paying better attention, but Steve had done a fair enough job of trying to hide it. </p>
<p>He’d still been paying the end of his lease at his first school, as he hadn’t been able to break it fast enough.  Billy had offered to sneak him into his bunk, but they’d both realized that, after walking in on them, it was far too likely that Tim would notice their interactions and put two and two together. </p>
<p>“I could try to switch rooms, and get one with you?” Billy offered over a cheap breakfast of milk-less cereal.  “Maybe a multiple we could bunk in with some other transfer…”</p>
<p>“It’s a comfortable enough seat—”</p>
<p>Billy cut him off with a hard stare.  “You’re not living in your <em>car</em>, stupid, especially not in winter.  It might be a novelty to your rich ass, but it’s not as fun as you think.”</p>
<p>“Lease ends in a few days,” Steve shrugged, “so I’ll figure it out.  Checks come on the regular, so I can—” he stopped suddenly, mouth not fully closed, cereal still in the process of being crunched between his teeth.</p>
<p>Wrinkling his nose at the slack-jawed sight, Billy nodded his head Steve’s way.  “You good, Harrington?”</p>
<p>Steve lifted his rear off the floor to twist his crisscross sitting body to better face Billy.  “I get checks.  I get checks every month for housing, from my parents.”  When Billy only raised his brows and waited, Steve continued, “We could pay <em>rent</em>, not just housing fees.”</p>
<p>A sappy smile threatened to spread over Billy’s teeth, and he didn’t even bother to fight its beginnings.  “Aw, Stevie, you want to move into an apartment with me?”  A flicker of hesitation crossed over Steve’s face, and Billy almost felt bad about it.  “I’d like that, too.”</p>
<p>It wasn’t as simple as just wanting it, of course, like anything else, but they made it work.  Mr. Harrington’s checks were weightier than Billy had expected, though he wasn’t fully surprised.  They’d been written out for a more expensive school, with fancier housing than either of them really needed.  Billy teased him plenty over how much he didn’t need to be spending, but he had to admit it was nice not to worry about how much he had left, for once.  They could have milk with their cereal, if they wanted.</p>
<p>Furniture would come later, but by the start of December, they had a small apartment on campus that was all their own.  Not having to worry about the minor particulars even helped Billy start to get his grades up.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Not having any completed credits to transfer, Steve had to start from scratch upon transferring.  That late in the semester, there were only a couple of basic courses that he could jump into mid-session without being completely lost.  As a result, he spent the next few weeks going over material he already know, but he didn’t mind that much—it gave him more time and energy to fit himself into campus life.</p>
<p>While Billy was at class, and Steve was free, he explored the buildings, people watching to see what kind of social life the school boasted.  It was during one such excursion that he was called out for all his snooping.</p>
<p>“King Steve?” called out behind him as he exited one of the class halls.  “Hey, Harrington!” followed closely before Steve even had a chance to turn around and acknowledge.</p>
<p>Feet still in motion as he turned, Steve took a few steps backward away from the voice.  “Well,” he aimed casually, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, “if it isn’t Ricky James.”  Ricky hadn’t gone to Hawkins High, in fact he’d attended Franklin, a rival of Steve’s basketball team.  “If I’d known <em>you</em> were enrolled here, I might have had second thoughts.”  Finally stopping his continued exit, Steve leaned himself against a squat lamppost, one foot propped back, arms folded.</p>
<p>“Nah,” a laugh answered, first, as James joined him on the road-side walk, “you’d have come to spite me.”</p>
<p>Steve chuckled, tilting his head to concede the point.  “You know, you’re probably right.”  Relaxing the pretense, he flipped a few fingers through his hair.  “So what’s the old All-Star Forward of Franklin Prep doing with himself, these days?  Scholarship?”</p>
<p>“Believe it or not, Mr. The Hair,” James hiked his backpack further up his shoulder, “some of us are able to pass tests on merit <em>and</em> score over the pretty heads of Hawkins’ elite.”  Letting the jab sit for a moment and settle, James let out a burst of a laugh and playfully smacked Steve’s shoulder.  “I’m just messing with you mean, yeah, I got a full ride.  Not that I don’t <em>also</em> have the grades, mind.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah, no need to be your own marching band over there.”  Neither he nor James had ever been in danger of falling off of their teams, but prep-school grades tended to carry a larger weight with recruiters and admissions officials.  James’ expression had shifted, along with his body language, and Steve’s eyes narrowed.  “What?”</p>
<p>Hooking thumbs behind backpack straps, James looked Steve up and down before speaking again.  “You know, I’m in this house, this brotherhood—”</p>
<p>“Fraternity?”</p>
<p>“—Well yeah.  So this house, <em>Frat</em>,” he over-emphasized with a nod at Steve, “could use some more good partying members.  I could put in a word for you, get you boosted forward?”</p>
<p>Steve opened his mouth to respond, but found himself unsure how he actually wanted to respond.  While it could be interesting, being in a fraternity, he and Billy had just gotten themselves settled in, on their own. </p>
<p>“C’mon, man, I remember the Harrington empty-house parties… there’s gotta be that keg-standing spirit behind a few books and credits, yeah?”</p>
<p>Egging. </p>
<p>“Tell you what,” James kept on without waiting long for a lack of a reply, “come to C-Hall tonight, 9:30; we got us an initiate party.  I know, I know,” he blocked Steve’s rebuttal, “not everyone there is pledging.  Just check it out, huh?”  With a pointed finger back at Steve, James broke off into long strides down the sidewalk.  “9:30, Harrington!” traveled back beyond another dozen unfazed students.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>“Frat party?” Billy asked over Steve’s shoulder, a large and boring mathematics book occupying the majority of the lap below. </p>
<p>“Yeah, it’s a party, put, uh… put on by a fraternity.”</p>
<p>“A frat party.”  The amusement was dominate in Billy’s tone.</p>
<p>Steve tipped his head back against the back of the couch they’d salvaged, burying his face in dangling curls.  “Okay,” murmured, tapping the tip of his nose behind Billy’s ear, “it’s a frat party.  Does that mean ‘no’?”</p>
<p>Offering a shiver in response to the nudge, Billy tilted his face, and instead of being nice and giving Steve a kiss, nipped at the offending nose.  “You sure you wanna party with me, Pretty Boy?”</p>
<p>“First of all, rude,” Steve closed his book, knowing he’d never get any more reviewing in after that, “secondly, I think I can hold my own with a beer in my hands.”  Billy didn’t look convinced, so Steve twisted in his seat.  “Alright, jerkface,” he kept going, undeterred by the rising of Billy’s brows over the epithet, “how about we swing a bet onto it, then?  Whoever holds more liquor wins?”</p>
<p>Billy laughed right in his face.  “You want alcohol poisoning, you beautiful idiot?”</p>
<p>With a roll of his eyes, Steve pushed Billy back, rising to his knees, backward on the couch.  “I’m not saying do it in three minutes, or don’t <em>eat</em>, asshole.  I mean keep count, be smart but keep count.”</p>
<p>Making a long show of ‘thinking it over’, Billy finally offered a toothsome, tongue-peeking grin.  “You’re on.”</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>Of the halls Steve had wandered by in the night since arriving, C-Hall had definitely been the loudest.  That was certainly still true when he and Billy showed up to Ricky James’ party.  Bass notes thumped loudly enough for Steve to feel the percussion on his skin, and he briefly wondered how they got away with it, even if it was on a Friday night.</p>
<p>While Steve had opted for black jeans and a button-up, Billy had decided to lean back into his high school persona—tight blue jeans, red silk shirt tucked in and, naturally, only half-buttoned.  Steve couldn’t say he minded the view, though he did have to last the night without letting it distract him from his dri—<em>motherfucker, what if he did that on purpose? </em> It didn’t matter; Steve was confident he could outdrink his boyfriend.</p>
<p>Steve could not outdrink his boyfriend.</p>
<p>Party started as parties do, amped-up and whooping attendees pouring in from all corners of the building’s lot, with absolutely zero breathing room once they all ascended to the floor’s interior.  Most of them looked like freshman or sophomores, probably friends of friends of acquaintances of James’.  Or total strangers, which was just as likely at a ‘house party’, as he was well aware.  Despite the throng of people in which they arrived, a fair number of people had already been ‘pregaming’ inside, setting the mood as drunk enough to encourage the age old tradition of ‘catching up’.</p>
<p>Par for the course of his wager, Steve set himself toward doing just that the moment he crossed the common room’s threshold.  James’ fraternity had the east wing of C-Hall to themselves, a tight cluster of student dorm rooms networked around a large main multipurpose room.  Bumping fists as a symbolic start to the challenge, he and Billy divided early on, circling the pockets of conversations, cobbled together refill stations, and several tables of beer pong.</p>
<p>Three shots in, Steve was feeling good: relaying stories of ball games with James and a few other Franklin Prep alums to small pocket crowds; moving and grooving to an excellent playlist blasting through the walls; chatting up some cute girls for the fun of his effect on them; challenging equally cute boys to shots for the fun of winning; at least two school-color-coded beer bongs.</p>
<p>It wasn’t a Harrington house party, and he definitely wasn’t the center of its attentions, but Steve had to admit that James and his group could get a mood going.  Two and a half hours in, Steve had racked up fourteen shots, eight cups of beer, and however much was in the funnels he’d sucked down.  Intermittently, so as not to <em>die</em>, he’d alternated water and snacks wherever he could find them.  Miming the count across the open floorplan to Billy, he was annoyed to receive a similar count in return, and a taunting air-kiss followed by a wide grin.  The grin was followed by a lewd motion involving Billy’s tongue poking his cheek and his fisted-hand aiming for his mouth, and if anyone else had done it, Steve would’ve started a fight, but from Billy?  Even drunk, he was turned on.</p>
<p><em>“Promise?”</em> he mouthed, and Billy winked before disappearing again.</p>
<p>Still grinning himself, Steve stumbled into the empty kitchen running along the back of the common space.  It was time for more snacks.</p>
<p>“Hey-hey,” sounded an unsuccessful sing-song from the entryway.  James had made his way in, waving an empty cup he clearly intended to refill from one of the numerous bottles that littered the countertop.</p>
<p>Steve gave him a greeting nod that he <em>almost</em> regretted.  “Hey man.  Great party.”  He sent a sweeping gesture out towards the rest of the crowd they couldn’t see through the kitchen’s interior wall.  “You got any good snacks back here for us elites?”  The gesture shifted to swivel between him and James.</p>
<p>Leaning his back against the counter, James set the cup down.  “Now what kind of snacks do you think us elites eat when we’re blitzed?”  Rather than go straight for the cabinets, James pulled a baggie out of his pocket, along with a lighter.</p>
<p>“That, there, is just going to make me <em>more</em> hungry, you know.”  James only offered a shrug as he unwrapped two of the blunts.  “But okay.” </p>
<p>Though he couldn’t tell, as it was going, exactly how much time he and James spent in a cloud of smoke, we was aware enough that he’d lit more than one, that several party-goers had wandered in and back out of the kitchen, and that the music had changed beat at least a dozen times.  Maybe.  Maybe more.</p>
<p>It felt unnatural, at first, to relax and share common space with such a rival, like he was betraying his school or something, but they weren’t in high school anymore, and hell, he was sleeping with a high school rival, too.  That thought echoed back as he realized how close he and James’ shoulders had gotten.  Steve’s left sneaker was inches from James’ right, and when they were both down to burnt up roaches, corresponding hands winding up one over the other on the countertop between them.  Steve was on his way to laughingly apologize when James leaned in.</p>
<p>“Ricky, hey—”  Hands up, Steve suddenly felt a lot more sober.</p>
<p>Bloodshot eyes widened in front of his, and James looked like he just had a similar shocking moment.  “Shit, shit… I-I misread it… did I misread it?  Are you not?”</p>
<p>Less panic, more amusement, Steve couldn’t help a laugh.  “Man, was more obvious to a bunch of people than it was to me, huh.”  Swiping a hand over his face, Steve shook his head.  “You read me right, but it’s not that.”</p>
<p>Pouring himself a fresh plastic cup full of clear liquor, James slid a step back, but stayed close enough to talk.  “…Me, then?”</p>
<p>“No, it’s <em>me</em>.  But for real,” he chuckled.  “It’s my boyfriend.”</p>
<p>“Damn,” James shook his head, seeming almost remorseful.  That abruptly changed to a wide-eyed gasp.  “Wait, <em>HARGROVE</em>?  For real?  I saw him come in with you, but—”  Steve only chuckled and offered a shrug in response to James’ facial expression journey.  “Man, I guess life really does change after high school, huh.”</p>
<p>“So do we, man, so do we.”  Leaving the kitchen amicably enough, Steve went over his new numbers in his head, and felt fairly square about them, eager to find out where Billy stood. </p>
<p>Where <em>Billy</em> stood was in the center of the room.</p>
<p>On his hands.  Well, just the one hand.</p>
<p>The other hand was on a syphon hose, and that hose was connected to a large metal keg.  Almost the entirety of the party’s late-staying attendees were gathered around him in a circle, chanting ‘chug’ over and over while cheering his progress through the process.</p>
<p>Steve gave up right then.  There was no way he was going to catch up to <em>that</em>.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They didn’t end up joining that fraternity. </p>
<p>Not because Ricky James had kissed Steve; Billy found that <em>hilarious</em>.  He also didn’t mind reminding Steve of the incident a bunch of times just to see him flush.  It worked well enough.</p>
<p>Mostly, they kept themselves ‘single’ to enjoy their space that was all theirs.</p>
<p>Billy wasn’t much for family, not with how his had turned out.  Sure, Neil was gone, but so was his mom.  Susan was glad he was seeking a degree, but it wasn’t her that demanded he keep in touch through letters.  He and Max had been writing since he had left for campus.  The only phone in most of the resident halls was a single payphone in the lobby, and enough students had left a sweetheart or someone behind that those were solidly occupied.  Calling a kid sister from a public lobby payphone didn’t really suit, either.</p>
<p>They weren’t close-close, not like some siblings, but more than once she’d confided in him information about school, about her friends, that he had a feeling wasn’t up for common knowledge.  Maybe she was talking to Susan, he hoped she was, but maybe not.  Definitely not the stories of trouble and mischief she and her friends got up to—he doubted Susan would be as proud of her in that as he was, even if a year or so ago it would have just pissed him off.  Not having his own hide on the line for her behavior sure changed that.</p>
<p>In any case, he sat in their apartment, writing a letter to his kid sister.</p>
<p>He left out some key details, like the amount of alcohol it took to counter Steve’s fairly iron stomach at the frat party, though he mentioned meeting people and having some fun.  Also pointedly missing were direct references to his sex life, but he couldn’t quite resist letting it slip that he and Steve had moved in together.  She’d make her own assumptions from there.  He knew damn well she knew he’d hooked up with him, even if she’d never overtly accused him.</p>
<p>Adding in some light complaints about his classes, and asking about hers, he finished off the letter with a mild threat to encourage her to write back—a tradition that was evolving into more severity as it went.  He did send a short hello to Susan.  The first time he’d written, it had just been to Max, and he’d heard it for that in her reply.  <em>‘Mom says she’s glad you’re doing okay, and she’s glad you found the time to write YOUR SISTER about your day.  That’s in capitals because she said it all loud and pointed like.  Just FYI.’</em></p>
<p>Just the fact that Susan had flung sarcasm at it made him grin, and he never missed a note to her in a letter since.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>Pausing his motion reaching for his textbook, Billy leaned further to the side, pressing his nose past the voluminous barrier of Steve's purposefully coifed hair.  There it was, that distinctive smell he was used to catching only on his own curls when they rebelled against gravity and found their way forward.  That, or if he spent too much time that day fiddling with them, so that his hands smelled of the conditioner.</p>
<p>"Steve?"  The name was casual, nonchalant, conversational-like.</p>
<p>A nasal hum returned, as Steve still had his pencil between his teeth as he finished lacing his boots.</p>
<p>There was no sense beating around the bush, and Billy had designs to see a startled Harrington.  "Have you been using my hair products?"</p>
<p>Already halfway back to a sitting position, Steve stopped short, a stuttered and sharp shift, hands letting the freshly knotted loops drop limp from his fingers.  "I, uh..." The pencil was still between his teeth as he straightened, widened eyes lowering their lids with a feigned confusion.  "I don' know wha' you're ‘alkin' a'ou'," he attempted, tossing his head to reposition the swoop Billy reached to disturb.</p>
<p>With the pencil digging into his cheeks on either side, Steve already looked halfway into a grimace, and Billy had to hold back a smirk.  It was a stupid look, and all he could think about, aside from haircare theft, was how he could make it worse.  "You smell like strawberries and mint," he accused openly, quirking one brow with inquisition, bending and drawing his knee up onto the couch to better face Steve.</p>
<p>When Steve reached up to take the pencil down, Billy took hold of his hand, instead, and a second attempt was thwarted easily, as well.  Letting out a sigh that sank his shoulders, Steve labored to speak more clearly around the pencil.  "Yesth, I sthole yer hair sthuffs."</p>
<p>"Thank you for admitting it," Billy offered, giving his hands a squeeze.  The calm in his tone only seemed to make Steve <em>more</em> nervous, which was by design.  Into the tension, he asked, "So, you think you can just get away with that?"</p>
<p>"I... uhh..."</p>
<p>Before Steve could get anything else out, Billy made use of his tilted position and his hold on Steve’s hands to pounce him back onto the rest of the couch cushions. They landed with a grin on Billy's face and a squeak sounding from Steve's as his eyes flew wide.  Leaning completely over him, hands pushed up towards the arm of the couch, Billy buried his nose in Steve's hair, just behind his ear, his lips grazing the tendons at the side of his neck.  A shiver ran beneath him as he inhaled.</p>
<p>"I like you smelling like me," he murmured, the vibration of the words teasing against Steve's skin.</p>
<p>Lifting his bottom likely just to squirm for comfort, Steve ended up arching into the touch.  "That's convenient for me," his voice was much louder than Billy's mumble at its regular volume, having spit out the pencil, "because I like how you smell."</p>
<p>"You'd better."  Palm on Steve's forehead, Billy smushed a wet kiss over his lips before using his head as leverage to push himself back up to sit.  Long fingers mussed through his hair on the way out.</p>
<p>An indignant squawk followed him as Steve bolted upright, hands flying to his head.  "Not the <em>hair</em>!" he complained, up and off the couch in a second to search for the nearest mirror, Billy laughing in his wake.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It took Steve a couple of weeks to notice.  The weather had been damp, that not-quite-Spring shift from true Winter, angling towards warmish weather, where Hawkins typically had slush everywhere but the campus had RAIN.  Days on end, rain, drizzle, fog, haze, and misting droplets soaking him by the time he made the walk from one building to the next.  While his women classmates typically complained of frizz and difficulty with their styles, Steve commiserated verbally as if he didn't deal with it, too--only he did.</p><p>When one doesn't ever admit their hair care routine, or the extent to which it requires effort, one is less likely to actively sympathize.  Mostly, Steve told them it must suck not to have perfect hair like his.  Typically statements like that either spawned exasperated remarks or led to requests to run flirty fingers through his coif.  Either way, he happy fueled the jealousy.  Except his wasn't perfect.  In fact, lately, it had gotten downright ornery.</p><p>More and more, layers of styling spray weren't cutting it.  He tried gel, and even pomade when that didn't give him the right hold.  By then, it was just slick, and he looked more like Dustin Henderson than himself.  Without it, though... the hair by his neck kicked out like a collar, it wouldn't stay behind his ears, and there was one cowlick that he had tamed years ago that suddenly only wanted to stand straight the fuck up.</p><p>"Fuckin' Alfalfa-cowlick hairs, get back in your... get in your <em>PLACE</em>," Steve forcefully muttered with a few more cusses for good measure as he attempted to slick down the errant spot.</p><p>A soft knock on the door had him hurrying his process.  "You okay in there, princess?"</p><p>Steve rolled his eyes into the mirror.  It wasn't the most common nickname, but it sure did crop up when he took too long with his hair.  Which was happening a lot more, lately.  "I'm fine," he drew out, tone rising at the end.  It wasn’t as if Billy didn’t spend his own eons in front of a mirror.</p><p>Billy hummed on the other side.  "Y'know we're actually kinda late, now, pretty boy."</p><p>"Yeah, yeah, keep your tighty-whities on," he slung out, not really paying full attention as one last swipe seemed to do the trick, at last.  Bringing his hands down and straightening up, he surveyed his handiwork, with the help of a handheld mirror, before declaring himself presentable.  Door open, he winked at Billy, striding right past him, intent on his shoes.  "And, technically, <em>I'M</em> late.  You're an uninvited guest, remember?  Uninvited guests can’t, by like, definition, <em>be</em> late."</p><p>Dinner with his parents had been planned for just the three of them, but Steve had had enough sneaking around over the last few months, let alone half his life.  With assurances from Billy that he'd be there for him through it, Steve was going to come clean to them: about school, about his own dreams, and maybe—<em>maybe</em>—even about Billy.  That part ran the risk of being pretty obvious during the meal, anyways, if his parents had even a few consecutive moments of focused attention on how Steve was feeling.</p><p>Already completely dressed, pressed, and freshly shaven, at least in the parts that he did, Billy checked his curls in the mirror one last time.  "Might be a night to make a good impression, is all I'm saying."</p><p>"Don't worry," Steve aimed up at him as he stood, Billy's ringed fingers still picking at a spiral or two, "you're perfect."  The compliment earned him a kiss, which of course had been his intention all along, and he took full advantage of the moment to calm himself down with Billy's arms in his grasp.  Even if he couldn’t be completely honest with his parents, he could have his boyfriend by his side.</p><p>---</p><p>They <em>were</em> late, but only by a couple of minutes, thanks to the way Billy drove.  It would have made Steve a hell of a lot less nervous if he could've kept from busying himself with a cigarette while navigating, but he couldn't really blame him for wanting the nicotine dose for his nerves.  Steve ended up bumming a few drags off of him, after all.  With one last peck for good luck while they were out of sight in the parking lot, Steve led them inside, having to forcibly stop himself from fidgeting with his sport coat the whole way to the table his parents had reserved.</p><p>"Hey, Mom, Dad," he greeted, a lame little wave of his hand accompanying it.</p><p>Neither of his parents stood, and their nods of acknowledgement were stilted by the sight of Billy behind Steve.  “Steven, darling,” his mother’s overly sweetened tone drawled, “you know we don’t invite friends to family dinner, and certainly not unannounced.”</p><p>Biting back any thought of responding that at least Billy would steer the conversation towards Steve’s interests, being present, Steve just grabbed a fourth chair from an empty neighboring table.  Sliding his intended seat over and handing the new one off to Billy, he nodded in agreement. </p><p>“We don’t, and sorry about the last-minute thing, but, uh, well…”  Unbuttoning his sport coat as it threatened to pop its buttons from tension as he bent into the chair, Steve smoothed at his tie, his shirt, his pantlegs, even though he couldn’t see any wrinkles.  “This is my roommate, at school, and I didn’t want to just leave him by himself.”</p><p>Shaking out a cloth napkin into his lap, and no longer bothering to meet his son’s eyes, Mr. Harrington hummed his disapproving hum.  “A travesty, to be sure,” his flat tone assessed, “a student alone in his room for one night.”</p><p>Teeth tightening at the sarcasm, a skill his father had never once used in an amusing way, Steve let a breath out of his nostrils before trying to justify.  “He’s a friend, Dad.”</p><p>“And did you just meet on campus?”  Mrs. Harrington had set aside her menu, closed, poised precariously on the edge of the table with the passive-aggressive intent to capture the attention of wandering wait staff.  Steve decided not to analyze how he felt about the fact that this was the longest inquisition into his personal life of almost any ‘family dinner’, and, ironically, it was due entirely to Billy’s presence.</p><p>Billy took over, then, even though Steve had only floundered for a barely perceptible half-second.  He was grateful for the quick-reacting poise.  “Well, we went to school together, before, for like, a year.”</p><p>“Senior year,” Steve clarified.</p><p>“Exactly,” Billy boldly plucked up the menu that had been set out for Steve, “and we ended up at the same college, by chance.”  Steve tried to peek over at the menu pages, but Billy smoothly closed it, as if the motion had been just part of his settling into the conversation. </p><p>His mom, on the other hand, was anything but settled.  Shock had failed to ease off of her face, and his dad was steadily leaning closer to searching for a way to cancel the whole evening.</p><p>“Yeah, he’s, uh, <em>also</em> a business major.”  Steve drew out the last words as he slowly reached for the water glass that had been waiting for him.  It wasn’t true, of course, as Billy had yet to declare a study path, but lying to his parents came so naturally that he didn’t even feel it once it was out.  So much for his plans.</p><p>That `reveal’, as suspected, drew Mr. Harrington’s attention from trying to motion a member of the wait staff.  Steve couldn’t be sure, but he had a feeling the intent had been to either leave early or try to make Billy alone do so.  Either way, he’d changed his mind.  “I see,” the intrigue was nearly palpable, and Steve could tell he was pleased just at the idea that his son had finally made any kind of connection in <em>his</em> world.  "What is it you hope to accomplish in your time at university, then?”</p><p>It was a poke, a test, and Billy rose to it swiftly, correcting his posture.  “First goal is ground floor, of course, make connections, work my way up through to the office floors.” </p><p>Thankfully, elaboration was hindered by their orders being taken, and by then the conversation had shifted towards food and other present-moment polite pleasantries.  Steve had always found that talk of vague and light topics helped him steer clear of uncharted territory with his parents.  If his father could ramble on about some obscure trivia, all the better to take the rest of the time.</p><p>Once the shock of extra plates and seats wore off, dinner went about the same as usual—reminders of his father’s contacts and their locations and specialties; critiques of Steve’s efforts so far; his mother’s tsk-ing and tatting over his appearance, though not in any way that bent towards helpful; and unrelated stories of his father’s time at university that ‘helped make him the man he is today’. </p><p>Technically speaking, <em>none</em> of the suggestions were helpful, especially not when they were hitched on lies he’d told.  He was used to it.  Likewise, neither he nor Billy ended up alluding to the nature of their relationship, or where they were actually attending school.  Or that they weren’t roommates in a dorm but sharing a single-bedroom apartment.  It was enough, for Steve, for now, just that they’d met.  He could mention Billy by name, if the need ever arose, without suspicion.  Success. </p><p>---</p><p>Harrington family dinners were a once-a-month ordeal, regardless of other family-related events.  So it was only a week later that winter break sent him and Billy back to Hawkins, each bemoaning in their own ways the unpleasant separation from a shared room and bed to their respective family houses.</p><p>That first night was brutal, Steve tossing and turning in his bed, despite how comfortable the expensive mattress was on his bones.  It felt wrong, the softness, the luxury of it, when he had become so accustomed to the unpredictable lumps in the double they’d obtained on campus.  They’d become convinced that the hard spots migrated every day or two, just to fuck with them, but every time they tried to track that, they didn’t move for almost a week.  In his childhood bedroom, there were no lumps, and he imagined Billy there teasing him about being ‘the princess without a pea’ for his trouble.</p><p>Not daring to draw so much attention to themselves by calling over the household phone lines, they’d agreed before commuting home that they’d spend that first day making nice with parents, and the next day was for the junkyard, just like before.  Upon arrival that afternoon, Steve was nearly bouncing with contained excitement. </p><p>Billy grinned on his way between decrepit cars.  “What’s got your briefs in a buzz, stud?”</p><p>Waiting until they were only a couple of feet apart, Steve smirked, winking.  “My parents are on one of their excursions,” he began, letting his tone intimate how important that was, “and won’t be back til late tonight.”</p><p>Not a word more was needed to send them on their way to Steve’s house.</p><p>Over the years, Steve had been alone in the Harrington house more times than he cared to count.  Even at the young age of seven, he could recall being dubbed ‘man of the house’ while his parents went out to wander around and derisively denounce antiques in shops, complain about fine art at galleries, or just sit pretentiously in some restaurant without a small, unpredictable child in the way. </p><p>It felt different being in the house, now, though.  He was older, by some measures an adult in his own right, and with Billy following him over the threshold, the expanding emptiness of the high-ceilinged house struck him as <em>exciting</em> in a way it never had, before.</p><p>“Shoes!” he exclaimed sharply, catching himself distractedly heading straight for the ornately patterned area rug that dominated the center of the foyer floor.  With Billy laughing at him, unabashed, Steve hopped on one foot as he worked his shoes off, making sure Billy followed suit before settling both pairs on the small rack against the wall.  “If you’d ever been on the receiving end of a ‘no dirt on the good rugs’ lecture, you’d be quicker with the laces, too,” Steve informed him, giving his shoulder a push.</p><p>“So,” Billy powered right by the jab, rubbing his hands together as he stood in the middle of the entryway and surveyed the downstairs rooms opening off from it, “where’s your bedroom?”  A downright devious grin spread over his face, all teeth and glint, his eyes coming to rest sharply on Steve, like a predator who had just zeroed in on his prey.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A full tour of the house preceded their journey to Steve’s bedroom.  Harrington insisted, saying he wanted Billy to feel at ease in the house, comfortable, but Billy was positive he was just being an asshole and making him wait that much longer to get his dick out.  Granted, without any witnesses present, he could’ve whipped it out and started shit in any one of the rooms he’d been toted along into and through—except, for creep factor, the master bedroom—but he was patient.  He’d repay the gesture, later, in his own way.</p>
<p>Most of the house didn’t stick in his memory, not with his blood rushing steadily south, but he <em>did </em>make a mental note of the pool out back, remembering from the year past that it was famously heated.  Snow still littered the shadiest areas of Hawkins, but a swim might not be out of the question, before the holiday was out.  Plots and plans blossomed in Billy’s mind as he was finally brought to Steve’s pin-perfect bedroom.</p>
<p>“Jesus, Harrington,” he stepped past Steve, brushing his shoulder on the way, “you got a maid hidden around here, or does your neatnik-ing expire the minute you cross township lines?”</p>
<p>Steve closed the door behind them, turning back with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.  “Har-har,” he over-enunciated.  “You wanna fool around, or keep complaining about my cleaning hab—”</p>
<p>Billy didn’t let him get any more sass out of his mouth, plugging it up with his own, yanking him over to him by the front of his shirt, and slowly stepping backward towards the neatly-made bed.  It was a single, leaving them a lot less room to roll around with, but Billy was content to make do.  He was also planning to mess it up beyond recognition.</p>
<p>Once the back of his calves hit the side rail of the bedframe, Billy stopped, switching their positions and only releasing Steve’s lips when he pushed his chest with both hands, forcing him to sit on the mattress.  “So, Harrington…”  Holding his gaze, Billy began unbuttoning his shirt, collar down.  “What should we do first?”</p>
<p>“You should keep that up,” Steve waved a hand at Billy’s shirt, “and I…”  Grabbing up the bottom hem of his polo, Steve crossed his arms and flipped it up and over his head.  However, he had neglected to unbutton the top, near the collar, leaving his head stuck in the shirt still, backwards and inside out.  The disgruntled and resigned sound that came from beneath the shirt, along with the way Steve’s body sort of sank into his spot, accepting it all, had Billy cracking up.</p>
<p>Helping him get the buttons open, Billy extricated his boyfriend’s head from his shirt, offering as fond a look as he could conjure once it was free.  “Oh, it’s a good thing you’re pretty, honey.”</p>
<p>A second later, it was Billy’s turn to release an undignified sound.  Steve managed to catch him off guard, sitting there looking innocent, so that he didn’t see the attack coming.  Grabbing hands cinched the sides of his ribs, leaning sharply back and taking Billy with him, so that they were both on the bed, stacked chest to chest.  Maybe it was an awkward way to get there, but he couldn’t say he minded finding himself on top of Steve. </p>
<p>“Yeah, well,” Steve wiggled under him, “you’re pretty, too, you know.” </p>
<p>“Shut up.”  Billy smirked, bracing one hand on Steve’s chest, the other making quick work of the belt on his jeans, flicking it onto the floor beside them, following it with his own.  “That doesn’t even need to be <em>said</em>,” he flaunted, kissing Steve again before he could argue.</p>
<p>Jeans were lost soon after, denim on denim not providing a pleasant kind of heat.  Steve’s body was well known to him, by then, and quite enjoyable, but the idea of sucking Steve’s dick into his mouth while in his parents’ house, in the room he grew up in, turned Billy on even more.  That thought in mind, he slid down Steve’s body, planting wet, noisy kisses down his chest, in a winding path over his stomach, stopping at the hem of his boxer briefs.  Looking up at his face from his groin, Billy dipped his tongue beneath the material, running it left-to-right, from hip to hip. </p>
<p>“Fuuuuuuuck,” rumbled out of Steve’s throat along with a moan, his bottom wiggling down at the mattress padding. </p>
<p>Grinning, Billy took the hem between his teeth, pulling it up and away from his skin, confirming Steve was looking before making a show of peeking down beneath it, waggling his brows when he looked back up.  Steve rolled his eyes, but Billy winked anyway.</p>
<p>From there, he more roughly yanked down the material, settling it at Steve’s knees to keep him from squirming around too much.  In hindsight, he would have also preferred to tangle his shirt around his elbows, too, but alas.  Letting Steve’s hitched breathing encourage his motion, Billy exhaled heated breath over Steve’s skin, licked wet trails to either side of the prize, and then switched to a cool blow.  Steve shivered, cussing Billy out under his breath.  He did it again.</p>
<p>“You gonna suck it or not?” came out all in a rush, Steve reaching to push at Billy’s forehead.  “If not, switch, and I’ll happily let you go first.”</p>
<p>Billy chuckled, snapping his teeth at Steve’s hand, though letting it miss.  “Patience, Princess.” </p>
<p>Steve started to argue back, but he shut up real fast when Billy closed his mouth around the tip of his cock, sliding straight down until its slit bumped the back of his throat.  Only a strangled groan was able to replace words, and Steve’s hands were too busy balling into fists holding the blanket to bother pushing at Billy’s head again.  Perfect. </p>
<p>It didn’t take long—Steve wasn’t a quick shooter, per se, but Billy had deliberately learned all of his sweet spots, all of his weaknesses, and teeth pressed at the base of his shaft along with strong suction in Billy’s throat was a surefire way to get a mouthful of jizz. </p>
<p>Licking his lips, Billy let him slip out, offering kisses along his length until Steve finally found his hands and pushed both of them against Billy’s face.</p>
<p>“No no, no more, not yet.”  Shivering from overstimulation, Steve sat up, grabbing Billy’s face and shoving his tongue in his mouth.  Billy grinned through the deep kiss, as ever amused at how much his boyfriend loved eating his own cum.</p>
<p>With a few scrambling kicks, Steve gained freedom from his underwear, dragging Billy back into a messy kiss before pushing him backward so his head was on Steve’s actual pillow.  Clicking his tongue, Billy plucked the pillow out, tossing it onto the floor.</p>
<p>“Not the <em>hair</em>, Harrington.”</p>
<p>Steve made a mocking face, parroting the complaint back at him, turning to a squawk when Billy mussed through his hair as punishment.  “Not the <em>hair!”</em></p>
<p>As his own punishment, Steve chose not to leave a trail of kisses on Billy’s skin, opting instead for sharp snips of his teeth over Billy’s nipples, tracing the dips of his stomach, and pinching his ribs with his fingers.  Hissing, Billy purposefully arched into the contact, letting the pain mix with the pleasure of allowing Steve to have his way.  Riling up his boyfriend was one of his favorite past times, in general, but especially when it yielded this kind of reward.</p>
<p>While still playful in his own way, Steve was too riled up to delay himself much in his treatment of Billy.  Not bothering to do more than tucking Billy’s boxers beneath his balls, Steve left a long, wet lick up his shaft before sucking him into his mouth.  He found his rhythm quickly enough, and Billy watched at first, closing his eyes after a few moments to let himself lose all other distractions.  His hips rolled gently under Steve’s motion, his breathing matching the pace, his entire body a wave with Steve’s attentions guiding its flow.  Against all reservations he’d ever built up, he relinquished control to Steve.</p>
<p>It was a risk, but it paid off handsomely.  Steve’s voice cut through the rush, urging him to open his eyes, to focus on him.  He’d kept a firm gripping hand on his length to lessen the release of his mouth, and he was slowly drawing that squeeze from base towards tip while Billy propped an arm behind his neck to tilt his head. </p>
<p>“I’m watching,” he promised.</p>
<p>Grinning that cocky, doe-eyed grin of his, Steve angled a lewd look at Billy before swallowing him whole.  Billy had to work at keeping his eyes focused, not embarrassed in the slightest at the keening moan that punched from his stomach as Steve tried to slurp his cock down his throat like it was a piece of spaghetti.  Though he held on as long as he could, it was only four of those strong, nearly violent pulls before he stammered out a halfhearted warning, his hips bucking up sharply, release snapping from his core and into a wet, warm, welcoming throat.</p>
<p>A positively ludicrous sound accompanied Steve’s mouth letting his dick go, and the idiot made his way right for Billy’s mouth.</p>
<p>“Ah-ah, Princess, that’s <em>your</em> kink, not mine,” Billy laughed, smushing at Steve’s face, his mouth shining with spit and cum.  His refusal only lasted so long, and Steve wormed his way past Billy’s defenses, and Billy had to battle him for who ended up swallowing more of Billy’s jizz.  He’d barely wiped his mouth of the bits that missed them both when duel car doors closed soundly outside the house.</p>
<p>Steve froze, his eyes going so wide that Billy could see the white all around the rim of his irises.  “Shit…”  The weight on top of Billy catapulted off at top speed, nearly tripping over the underwear still lingering around his calves before he recovered.  “Shit, shit shit…”</p>
<p>A similar panic rose through Billy’s veins, and he matched Steve’s speed for slamming into his own clothing, working desperately to smooth the rumples and wrinkles, wiping at his mouth over and over until he only tasted skin.  They’d barely made it back into zippers and buttons when the front door closed, marking the Harringtons had made it all the way inside. </p>
<p>Early.</p>
<p>They didn’t tumble down the stairs, but Billy saw how Steve’s cadence of steps was rushed, uneven.  However much anyone else would see, he knew they both were painfully aware of every hair out of place.</p>
<p>“Steven!” Mrs. Harrington let out, startled from her lack of personality as she hung up her overpriced coat.  “What a ruckus…”</p>
<p>At the bottom of the stairs, Steve rushed both hands back through his hair in a fussy effort to smooth it, glaring at Billy for half a second, probably because <em>his</em> hair wasn’t so wild after their romp.  The motion, however, caught the eye of Mr. Harrington, whose gaze had turned eagle-sharp, sharper than Billy had an inkling he’d ever bothered to look at his son; Billy could feel his eyes on Steve as if they were on his own skin.</p>
<p>The thread of that gaze broke its line as Mr. Harrington stepped to the serving cart parked against the side foyer wall, pouring out a squat glass of dark liquor—Brandy, if Billy had to guess. </p>
<p>“I’m gonna… water…” Steve muttered just barely breath, dipping into the kitchen behind the stairs to gather a glass for both him and his mother, which he handed off to an impersonally polite thank-you.</p>
<p>“How are you liking business school, then, William?”</p>
<p>A short splash sounded beside Billy as Steve nearly choked on a sip from his glass.  Billy’s eyes flicked to him, swallowing past a suddenly very dry throat.  Steve may as well have been a deer caught in car headlights, for all the help his face offered.  All on him, for the moment. </p>
<p>“I’m excited about it,” he pours on, clearing his throat.  A ticked-up angled smile showed off bright teeth, a flashy distraction.  “I’m learning a lot that’ll help me get into some good positions.” </p>
<p>Steve actually did choke a bit on his water that time, coughing as his mother patted his back completely ineffectively.  Billy had to hold back a smirk, and though it pained him not to be able to see the panic in Steve’s eyes, he mercifully withheld eye contact as he kept his attentions on Mr. Harrington, who was pouring a second snifter.  Acknowledging any connection to Steve’s cough would break the bubble he was trying so hard to build.</p>
<p>Mr. Harrington hummed, pouring a second short glass, its circumference cut and beveled at angles like the first.  “A good businessman must appreciate a good brandy.  Can you?”  That glass was held out in offering to Billy.</p>
<p>“<em>Really</em>,” Mrs. Harrington huffed, taking her water out of the foyer with her.  Her husband let off no flinch, completely undeterred.</p>
<p>Raising a brow, Billy reached for the glass, well aware everyone in the room knew he wasn’t of legal age, not that had stopped him on his own, ever.  Nodding his thanks, he lifted the glass toward his nose, inhaling as he gently swirled the liquid around the shape of the belly of the shallow glass.  Mr. Harrington was watching him closely, but Billy could tell he had hit the right moves before he took the first small sip.  “Nicely aged,” he offered, taking another swallow to seal his approval. </p>
<p>Steve muttered out something about checking on his mother, ducking out of the situation and leaving Billy to do what he did best—pretend to be someone he wasn’t.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>“I can’t fucking believe you pulled that off,” Steve spoke in near wonder, once they’d escaped the house again, at last.  It had taken nearly fifteen minutes of idle conversation with Steve’s father for the novelty of their presence in the house to have worn off, allowing them to leave undeterred.  “Where the hell did all that come from?”</p>
<p>Dueling creaks and clunks settling them into the car with doors safely closed, Billy leaned over quick enough to startle Steve with a kiss, amused at the second it took him to press his lips back against Billy’s.  He was sure they couldn’t be seen from the door or any of the front-facing windows at their angle, but they were still probably too close for Steve’s comfort.</p>
<p>“Neil was pretentious enough when he had people over.”  He shrugged.  “It’s all bullshit, but no one ever calls each other on it, ‘cause then they’d have to admit their own.”  It wasn’t just Neil and his friends that had that problem.  Glancing back at the closed curtains, the soft light seeping through from what he now knew to be a fancy-ass lamp, Billy lowered his voice.  They couldn’t hear him, but it felt right.  “They don’t know, either, do they.”  It wasn’t fully a question, and it sat heavy and unanswered in the air between them as Billy drove away from the Harrington house. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Most of Hawkins kept their business out of the creek that ran past the medical labs.  Maybe there had been a tradition of bored fishing <em>before</em>, but no one even hung out by the water, as far as Billy had found.  He and Steve had claimed it, along with the junkyard and certain spots along the bluffs, as one of their spots away from prying eyes.</p>
<p>They spent the evening there, after the incident with his parents.  Both of them were too keyed up to settle in anywhere, and some In-and-Out burgers and cokes and kicking rocks into the creek sounded like a way to get some of the nerves buzzing in their skin to chill out.  It was cold, and the water that splashed from the bigger stones colder still, but the sting of it was welcome on Billy’s face.</p>
<p>Not a word was said about the Harringtons.  Billy was prepared to discuss it, if Steve needed to.  Hell if he didn’t know what it was like to need that vent, to let some of the steam of squashed down emotions bleed off, easing the pressure.  Despite not having someone do that for him, before, it was enough for a while just that Max knew, that she didn’t hate him for it.  Now, though, he had Steve, and at least he could talk to him if he needed to.  Maybe Steve needed to, probably did, but Billy waited him out.</p>
<p>Instead, he tossed rocks into the water, wondering how many creatures were under the surface, cursing the land gods for destroying their peace.</p>
<p>It was two days before he heard from Steve again.</p>
<p>Billy had asked if they were meeting the next day, when he’d dropped Steve off up the block from his parents’ house, but he hadn’t gotten a commitment from him.  No call came that next day, no sign of him around town, and none the next, either.</p>
<p>He had driven by, but he hadn’t been able to catch the house without at least one of the Harrington’s cars parked in the driveway, and he didn’t want to risk turning awkwardness into something worse by showing up unannounced, again.  No one else in Hawkins, including those back from their own universities, seemed like an interesting enough use of his time, and he couldn’t shake his worry for Steve.  Apparently, it was affecting him, as well.</p>
<p>“This town might suck, but you look like someone sucked the life right out of you, Spaghetti Head.”  Max dropped her forearms heavily onto the back of Billy’s shoulders, her voice too close to his ear as he sat on the couch.  He hadn’t left that couch in a couple of hours.  In honor of the insulting nickname, she scrubbed a hand over the top of his curls.</p>
<p>Smacking her hand away, he neatened the part in his hair.  “Don’t you have homework or something?”</p>
<p>A second after lifting off of him, Max had vaulted the back of the couch, landing beside him with a <em>whump</em>.</p>
<p>“Susan hates when you do that,” he pointed out.</p>
<p>Max feigned a dramatic look around the room, craning her neck to see into the kitchen, down the hallway.  “Funny, I don’t see her…”  She shrugged, leaning back into the opposite corner from him.  “And it’s <em>Christmas break</em>, lame-brain.  There’s no homework.”</p>
<p>Right.  Christmas.  The holiday was less than a week away, now, and Billy found he couldn’t really feel very festive over it.  In truth, he hadn’t been a real Christmas-y person since he was a kid, but he had let himself start to get excited about celebrating some of the season with Steve.</p>
<p>He must have missed at least one thing Max had said, as he focused back in with her hand waving in his face, fingers snapping.  “Hell<em>ooo</em>o, McFly… anybody in there?”</p>
<p>Rather than fire back at her, Billy sighed, laying his head against the back of the couch. </p>
<p>“Boy troubles?”</p>
<p>His head snapped back up so fast, he would have sworn his neck cracked.</p>
<p>“It’s not like I don’t know.”</p>
<p>“I know, I know,” he agreed, “it’s just…”  Frowning, he couldn’t help glancing over at the kitchen phone, as if he expected it to ring, after two days of silence.  “I think that might be the problem—knowing.”</p>
<p>Max sat forward, squinting.  “Did someone say shit about you?”</p>
<p>Her mouth set firm, she looked ready to start a fight.  Billy had to smile.  “I can handle my own shit, half-pint.”  Even as she looked ready to reestablish her defense, he shook his head.  “Parents, I think.”</p>
<p>“Mom…?”  An only mostly-stifled gasp followed.  “…<em>His</em> parents?”  Concern was clear on her face—the kind of worry that only those most familiar with the way small towns, in which Hawkins was certainly no exception, drowned out the ‘different’ could conjure.  They were both acutely aware of it, and Billy himself used to soundly be part of it.</p>
<p>“I’m starting to think so, yeah.”</p>
<p>Max’s face, if not her mouth, vividly said ‘yeesh’.  “You think that’s why he’s avoiding you?”</p>
<p>“I didn’t say he was <em>avoiding me</em>,” Billy bit out, but despite the venom in his tone, Max just smiled that kind of smile that was put on when the wearer knew a secret.  “You’re a brat,” he told her, forcing his body to sink further into the couch cushions. </p>
<p>Without a hint of offense, Max verbally agreed, sliding over to sit next to him, her head on his shoulder.  “If it’s any other reason, he’s an idiot.”  Her voice was soft, but the sentiment was firm, brooking no argument.</p>
<p>“Thanks, Max.”  In a move that would have been unthinkable just a year earlier, Billy shifted his arm around his sister’s shoulders, hugging her to him.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>If Susan had specifically noticed the shift in his mood, she didn’t point it out.  She did, however, conveniently stock the fridge with his favorite foods, along with two six packs of Coke bottles.  While he didn’t bring it up, either, Billy was fairly certain she was trying to cheer him up, and was content enough to let her keep trying.</p>
<p>Late in the afternoon, three days into Stevelessness, Billy was just clearing dishes and putting the kitchen back in order from cooking dinner with Susan and Max when the phone rang.</p>
<p>“Billy!” Max’s voice echoed around the walls.  “For you!”  She was far closer to him than the volume betrayed, but then, that was Max. </p>
<p>Wiping his hands, Billy set down the dishtowel, figuring he’d finish after.  “Hello?” was barely out of his mouth before Steve’s voice, cracking and broken, hurried through the speaker.  “Hey, hey, slow down, babe,” Billy rushed into the handset, cupping his hand over it, but well aware he could be heard inside the house.  “What’s going on?”</p>
<p>A second later, he was hanging up and grabbing his keys in a rush out of the house.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Two days of tense silence, expectant updates on his progress, and Steve trying to repair the old normalcy around the house preceded the inevitable blowup.  </p>
<p>“Don’t <em>lie</em> to me, boy,” Mr. Harrington’s voice had gained an edge that had always been reserved for business associates who didn’t follow his instructions.  His thick finger was pointed directly at Steve’s nose from merely inches away, his eyes twitching between suspicious narrowing and angered widening.  “I’m no fool.”</p>
<p>His mother paced back and forth by the sitting room’s drink cart, a glass of wine in her hand.  She had yet to chime in.</p>
<p>“You haven’t come clean on your own, like a man,” his father paced, too, then, but rather like a predator, “so you <em>must</em> think me a fool.”</p>
<p>Stuffing anything resembling emotional reaction as far own in his stomach as he could, as far from the tightening sensation in his chest, Steve stood his ground, hands in his pockets.  “I don’t think you’re a fool.”</p>
<p>“Then what is it?”  Voice raised, the only contribution that came to his aid from his wife was a reminder that they had neighbors.  It was summarily ignored by them both.  “I saw you with him, the way you both came downstairs, the way you both <em>looked</em>.”  Revulsion boiled beneath the anger.  “He’s not your <em>friend,</em> not a <em>roommate</em>… he’s your… your…”</p>
<p>“My what, Dad?” Steve asked, a stubborn, manufactured calm the only thing steadying his tongue.  “My boyfriend?  My lover?”</p>
<p>“Steven!”</p>
<p>“What would <em>you</em> call it, Mom?”</p>
<p>One hand flitting about her hair as she shakily held onto her glass, Mrs. Harrington rushed a flurry of flustered sputterings.</p>
<p>“OUT!” Mr. Harrington’s booming voice struck Steve’s ears so harshly, he might as well have punched his face.  “Get out.  I will not have a… a philandering son under my roof, not with <em>men</em>.”  He’d already turned his back on Steve, in words, and then he did it physically.  “I can’t look at you.  Get out.”</p>
<p>Steve’s mother offered him an apologetic look, without the actual apology, but she only stood there, with her wine, and a hand rubbing her temple, saying nothing.</p>
<p>Teeth ground together, Steve scaled the stairs to his bedroom, packing a pair of bags with as much as he felt he wanted or needed for the moment, and walked right out without a word.  He wouldn’t cry, not inside the house.  He made it all the way to the pay phone outside the gas station before he broke down on his call to Billy’s house.</p>
<p>They left his car there.  He’d go back for it, but he couldn’t drive just then.  Instead, he tossed his bags in the back seat of Billy’s car, curling his body into the front passenger side.  Bidding Billy not to say anything just yet, they drove out of Hawkins, taking numb steps up the stairs of their resident hall, to sink down into the couch that was <em>theirs</em>, in the apartment and space that was <em>theirs</em>, so that Steve could be held and cry as much as he needed.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>Billy spent an hour on the phone with Max and Mrs. Hargrove, and he and Steve spent Christmas in their apartment.</p>
<p>Campus was mostly empty, a fresh set of snowy inches blanketing the view from their windows, and, disappointed as he was, sad as he could be if he let himself, Steve resolved to enjoy the reset button a good snowstorm offered to the ground, as if it could help him, too.  Billy’s arms winding around him from behind, chin on his shoulder, certainly didn’t hurt the attempt.</p>
<p>“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Princess?”</p>
<p>Patting his hands against Billy’s arms, Steve gave him a small chuckle.  “Rarely… but humor me.”  He was pretty sure whatever followed would involve Billy’s dick.</p>
<p>Warm lips bent close to Steve’s ear, Billy’s breath ticking at the small hairs inside.  “I’m thinking…”  His arms cinched more firmly around Steve, fingers beginning to migrate upward and downward, respectively, before abruptly releasing him so fast he almost teetered over.  Instead, Billy stepped up beside him, hands and face dramatically squashed against the window pane.  When he spoke, it was a muffled but dramatic whisper.  “<em>Snow angels</em>.”</p>
<p>A sincere laugh bubbled out of Steve at the ridiculous twist.  “Goofball,” he accused.  That assessment didn’t stop him from bundling up alongside Billy, and heading out into the pale-coated quad. </p>
<p>Their voices echoed off of the multi-floor buildings that ringed the courtyard, but most of the sound of their steps, their words, and laughter were swallowed up by the dampening snow.  It almost felt wrong, to mar the untouched perfection with their sinking footprints, but it also felt as if he and Billy were laying a kind of claim on the space, marking it as <em>theirs</em>. </p>
<p>Steps were one thing, but the imprints of their bodies, arms and legs swung wide to leave sweeping arcs, made a much bigger impression on the scene.  They left them in pairs: two on the lawn by their hall; two outside of the library; two by the door to the coffee shop, as if they were on their way inside; two next to the administration building, though that one felt far more like a ‘fuck you’ to all of the authority that they disliked, rather than a bit of fun design.</p>
<p>Once done, they were soaked to the skin, needing to brush off clumps of frozen crystals from their jackets and jeans before even starting back towards the apartment.  Billy stopped them, outside, taking hold of Steve’s arm and tugging him over into an embrace. </p>
<p>“It’s just us, you know.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure there’s a custodian or two hiding around somewhere,” Steve quipped.  As if they were being watched from behind the bushes like a stalker.</p>
<p>Billy shook his head.  “I’ve been keeping an eye out—there’s <em>no one</em> around, right now.”  Pulling on both of Steve’s arms and then at his waist, Billy drew him closer, wet clothes on wet clothes just enhancing the chill against Steve’s skin, but he didn’t really care.  “You’re all mine.”</p>
<p>Against it all, Steve grinned, letting some cockiness seep into it as it bent his cheeks.  “All yours, huh?”  Billy nodded, snow gently crunching under his boots as he walked Steve in a circle.  “And what do you plan to do about that?”</p>
<p>In the midst of such a crisp chill, Billy’s lips were a blazing fire.  The touch of them was warmth to his soul along with his body.  Steve let himself melt into the touch, leaning into Billy’s hold, not even feeling the cold after a few minutes.  Not feeling the world.  For those moments, in the middle of a wintery campus, without access to his family home, Steve felt safe and warm.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>He felt much warmer in the shower, however. </p>
<p>Cold as they both were by the time they quit making out in the winter air, neither of them could agree on who would go first—so they squished into the upright stall together.  It wasn’t ideal, really, not a lot of room to turn and maneuver, but Steve certainly didn’t mind rubbing up against his boyfriend, sliding soap-covered limbs over others. </p>
<p>In a move as matchingly possessive as Billy’s words outside, Steve managed to convince him that he should wash his hair for him.  It took a solid two minutes of debate under the steaming spray, by which time all of their suds were rinsed clean.  To seal the deal, he offered up his own wet-down locks.</p>
<p>Who knew a fingertip scalp massage could feel <em>that good</em>?</p>
<p>Moaning into Billy’s hands, Steve braced his own hands on the glass wall of the shower stall, despite realizing it would do very little good if he actually started to slip, given he had no traction at all.  Shampoo rinsed out, Billy worked one of his thicker conditioner creams into Steve’s hair, taking a couple of minutes to ensure it was deep down to his roots before patting the lather lightly.</p>
<p>“Alright, go ahead, do your worst,” Billy offered, sounding as if he were offering up an opportunity to be tortured.  Steve might have been insulted if he wasn’t already so excited to get to work.  Pressing a kiss to Steve’s forehead, Billy turned around, plucking a bottle off of the tile shelf and handing it back over his shoulder.  “This one, please.”</p>
<p>Grinning, Steve held up the bottom lengths of Billy’s hair—a much smaller volume when weighted down with water, as opposed to how heavy his hair got when it was wet—under the spray, making sure he had enough moisture for a good lather.  He’d watched Billy shower, before, with no shame or guilt in the memory, so he knew he tended to use slightly different motion patterns on his curls than Steve did on his thick mop.  “Here we go,” he teased, gathering a handful of viscous shampoo into his hands.</p>
<p>Half the time, he couldn’t really tell who was taller, him or Billy.  His own hair was most often styled for height, so the tops of his coif typically towered over most, but on ‘good curl’ days, Billy’s hair was a fair two inches above <em>his</em> scalp, too.  In reflections, any given day was a toss-up in either direction.  Soaked through, however, Steve found he had just a <em>scooch</em> on Billy, and smirked at the observation as he gently worked lathery fingers through Billy’s hair. </p>
<p>“You’ll never get through at that rate,” Billy told him.</p>
<p>Steve scoffed.  “With my own hair, no, but with these gorgeous swirls and curls?  Gotta treat ‘em right, you know.”  He only cackled at the wet slap to his hip that comment earned him. </p>
<p>Less commentary followed, and he worked lather through water-stretched curls, massaging the locks themselves as much as he moved up to do so for the scalp.  Billy’s moans had him grinning again, and he leaned into the effort, finding the spots that earned him the loudest sounds and pressing more firmly.  Feeling Billy melt under his touch—to his <em>hair</em> no less—had him on a heady power trip that had him tucking his hardening cock up along Billy’s bottom, just enjoying the contact.</p>
<p>“Nnnmmph,” rumbled from in front of him, a wiggle of Billy’s hips sending twitches through Steve’s dick.  “Conditioner, babe, before I get <em>really</em> distracted.”</p>
<p>“Oh, so tempting,” Steve sassed at him, rocking his hips forward and reaching a lathered-up hand to smack across Billy’s ass.  “But fine.” </p>
<p>Rinsing, conditioning, and another smack, and Billy was left to soak while Steve worked the conditioner cream out of his thick mess of hair.  In the interest of neatly finishing, he left a peck to Billy’s cheek and left him to finish up while he dried off.</p>
<p>Only having managed sweatpants thus far, Steve was working a careful comb over his still damp hair when Billy came back out, towel around his waist.  Stopping in the doorway, Billy stood still until Steve looked up at him, and then was giving him an odd look. </p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>Corner of his mouth ticking up, Billy looked like he was biting back the beginnings of a grin.  “Your hair…”  He pointed, waggling his index finger, and when Steve didn’t catch on, he stepped over to flick his fingers at some of the locks hanging down from behind Steve’s ears.  “It’s… it’s <em>curling</em>, Stevie.”</p>
<p>“It’s <em>what</em>?”  Scrambling to his feet, Steve stepped around Billy on his way to the bathroom mirror.  Sure enough, without the support of product and spray, and undoubtedly the result of Billy’s barrage of products, Steve’s hair was actually starting to curl around itself, down by his neck. </p>
<p>“…Weird.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>_______________________________________</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Christmas had passed alone, New Year’s Day had passed with a party on campus, and just like that, it was January.  Classes were due to resume in a couple of weeks.</p>
<p>So Billy was surprised and confused when they got a call from student services that a package had arrived for Steve.  Neither of them had ordered anything from a catalog, and the season of giving was behind them.</p>
<p>“Promise me you’ll come back before opening it,” Billy demanded, following Steve towards the door where he shoved on his shoes.  Steve had to sign for the delivery, and had decided to go alone so only one of them got cold, but priorities were priorities.</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah,” Steve laughed him off, starting out the door without another word.  He came back five seconds later and winked.  “I promise, okay?”</p>
<p>Billy could hear Steve coming long before he struggled his way in the door.  Heavy steps, muttering, grunts of effort, and a few curses preceded his three attempts to turn the doorknob with half a hand.  Billy stayed on the couch, watching, amused, as Steve hefted a large cardboard box.</p>
<p>“Little help?” came a strained request, Steve jostling the box where he’d leaned it against the frame to help him open the door. </p>
<p>“Looks like you’ve got it just fine, Princess,” Billy grinned at him, sipping beer from a can.</p>
<p>Several more curses followed, but Steve did just fine, kicking the door closed behind him.  Billy supposed he deserved the heavy parcel being set down in his lap, and he laughed for his trouble.  With a little effort, he scooted it off of his legs so that it occupied the middle cushion between them. </p>
<p>Beer set aside, Billy craned his neck, tilted, to try to read the return address.  “…Fuck, wait, it’s from <em>them</em>?”  The Harrington’s Hawkins address was prominently displayed in the upper left corner of the shipping label.  “Damn.”</p>
<p>With a sigh, Steve rushed his hands back through his half-curled hair, much of it staying swept back wet from the snowflakes that had landed on his head while outside.  “Who the fuck knows,” he offered back, half a mutter, in answer to the unasked question of what might be inside.</p>
<p>Steve dug fingers into the cardboard, looking for loose or weak points for leverage, but it was solid enough, not budging under the pressure. </p>
<p>“Would you like h—”</p>
<p>“I GOT IT.”  Tongue tucked into the corner of his mouth, squinting at the box, Steve tried, unsuccessfully, to peel up the tape that secured its edges.</p>
<p>After three full minutes of letting him struggle, Billy tugged free the pocket knife he kept clipped in his jeans pocket.  “Help?”  A forced exhale of a sigh was the only reply he got, but it was assent even so, and Billy carefully sliced through enough tape to allow them to peel open the package.</p>
<p>Below a layer of packing peanuts that started spilling over the second they were exposed, Steve uncovered an envelope, and beneath that several smaller parcels.  Staying quiet while Steve read it, Billy watched his eyes well up, even as he tried to blink away the tears. </p>
<p>“It’s, uh…”  Setting the paper aside, Steve pulled out a set of model cars, then a baseball card saver book, and then a Stretch Armstrong figure.  It was a sharp, bitter chuckle that came after.  “My Mom sent it,” he spoke quietly, rattling the letter for emphasis, “says she wanted to keep them safe, and hopes we can ‘all get along’ someday soon.”</p>
<p>Billy plucked up the letter, giving it a quick scan.  There was no apology, he noted immediately, no message or sign or inference that <em>she</em> accepted who Steve was.  While it wasn’t necessarily surprising, to him or likely either to Steve, it certainly wasn’t a welcome knowledge.  Still, the box had been a gesture, and Billy reminded himself that being closed and hard against people hadn’t gotten him very far in life.</p>
<p>Folded back up and slipped into its envelope, the letter was frisbee’d off to the other side of the room by Billy, earning a smile from Steve even though he hadn’t been watching.  With Mrs. Harrington’s words—and lack thereof—out of the immediate picture, they focused on unpacking the box, peeling back time, and experiencing Steve’s childhood interests.  For Steve, it was like a time capsule, each item a memory, a story, a hurried explanation or even justification.  For Billy, it was a fondly accepted window further into who Steve was, who he’d grown up, who he’d been as he made his way through earlier life.</p>
<p>At the bottom of the box, below comic books and novelty combs, beneath a set of keychains and some collectable coins, past a rock with a face glued on it that Steve had to defend harder than anything that had come before it, was a small box of photographs.</p>
<p>“Jesus Christ,” Steve exclaimed, attempting very swiftly to take hold of the entire pile of photos, sliding them towards himself, away from Billy’s reach.</p>
<p>“Oh no no, Stevie,” he countered, enjoying, as every time, the sour-lemon face Steve made at the nickname, “I’m seeing these.  Let me at ‘em.”</p>
<p>Not in a single photo in the pile was Steve even a teenager.  There were Halloween costumes, there were church-worthy suits, there were school events and small-time graduations, there were friends, and, most of all…</p>
<p>“Steve.”  Billy spoke the name flatly, with no added monikers, not even a tease, not just yet.  When his boyfriend looked up, Billy shook the photo in his hands.  “Steven Evan Harrington, take a look at this.”</p>
<p>Handing over the picture, Billy waited expectantly.  The view it offered was of a small Steve, undoubtedly no older than five, barely school-ready.  What was notable, however, wasn’t his outfit—which was as posh and prepped as it could possibly have been—nor where he was, or which family members were in the background.  No, it was Steve himself who had startled Billy.</p>
<p>In the photo, Steve’s head was completely overtaken by a thick, luscious, and completely unruly mound of <em>curls</em>.</p>
<p>“The fuck?” was Steve’s verbal reaction, and also what his expression conveyed without words.  “I didn’t… I mean, I wasn’t… I’ve never <em>seen</em> this before!”</p>
<p>Billy noted, from his one brief tour around its insides, that he didn’t recall seeing any photos displayed inside the Harrington house.  Not of Steve, anyway, and certainly not of him as a small child.  He had to swallow down the wondering of how much else from his growing years Steve simply forgot, for lack of anyone caring to remind him.  He could commiserate. </p>
<p>Box moved and set on the floor, along with all of its contents from going through them, Steve resettled on the couch cushion, still staring at the photo, and two others Billy had fished out in the meantime.  In all three, his curls were prominent. </p>
<p>“Those are yours,” Billy pointed at them.  “And <em>these</em>,” he shifted his bottom on the couch so that he was right next to Steve, his proper place, and able to give a few light, strategic tugs to the steadily winding locks at the back of his head.  “These are yours.  These are <em>those</em>,” he nodded to the photos.  “God…”</p>
<p>Looking up, Steve seemed curious at the change in Billy’s tone.  “What?”</p>
<p>Eyes staring firmly into the dopey brown ones across from them, Billy took hold of Steve’s chin and cheeks, holding his gaze and his attention firmly.</p>
<p>“You’re not allowed to use a single hair product you’ve used since these photos <em>ever again</em>.”  Steve laughed, but Billy doubled down.  “From now on, <em>I’m</em> managing your hair care.  We’re going to get those curls back, or so help m—”</p>
<p>Despite Billy’s hold on his face, Steve managed to surge forward, mashing Billy’s hand into his own face as he kissed him soundly.  He heard the photos flutter back into the box before Steve leaned into his space. </p>
<p>“Just because you’re kissing me,” he broke free for a moment, pulling Steve backwards with him onto the cushions, despite his argument, “doesn’t mean we’re do—”</p>
<p>Steve moved his whole weight over Billy’s frame, and Billy had never been so content to exit an argument mid-stream.  Instead, he tipped a leg to cross over Steve’s, and slid both hands up to firmly grip onto all of those emerging curls, silently encouraging them to grow.</p>
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